The Snowdown Thief
by iXenomorph
Summary: In the city of Piltover, a hungry thief tries to steal during Snowdown, but bites off more than she can chew.


The Snowdown Thief

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><p><strong>Brief Plot Synopsi<strong>s – _In the city of Piltover, a hungry thief tries to steal during Snowdown, but bites off more than she can chew. _

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><p><strong>Pronunciation guide of character names, places, and things:<strong>

Chante'le – "_shan-teh-lay_"

décolletage – "_day-clay-tazh_" (The French way of referring to a woman's neck and upper breasts – cleavage)

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><p><strong>Author's Note and Disclaimer<strong>:

This is my first work of erotic fan-fiction set in the League of Legends universe. It is quite a long read, as I like my stories to develop their characters. It is intended for a mature audience, and as far as I can tell, abides by the summoner codes as well as the forum regulations. It does not condone any violent purposes, nor was it written with the intent of offending any of it's readers. All characters are over 18. This is my humble offering first and foremost to Riot, in creating such a wonderfully immersible game, and the wide and varied LoL fanbase – you are what makes the game great. All character names, places, events, things, objects, organizations, and whatever you can think of that I mention in my tale are the sole intellectual properties of Riot Games. Finally, if the Riot community deems my fan-fiction inappropriate for a place such as the forums, despite every measure I have taken to abide by the listed rules, they may remove my work and I will bear no ill will towards them. However, I trust in their professionalism and openness to allow my work where I have chosen to post it, whatever that may be worth. Humbly if I may, I will leave my disclaimer at that, as I do not wish to trespass upon the boundaries of immodesty. Please enjoy what I have to offer, and happy Snowdown to you all.

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><p><em>The Beginning<em>

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><p>It was ironic that Snowdown was a season of peace, gift-giving, homeliness, and fun. To the thin, bedraggled figure that trudged through the snowy wastes, Snowdown seemed a cruel mistress. Cold infested the cracks in the worn rags she wore, her hair blew freely, half-released from the tattered rag that served as a cap. A few moments later, the wind plucked that from her head too, as if determined to make everything harder for the girl. Golden locks spilled out, but they had seen the polish of better days, for they were now fettered, tangled, and dun. Compared to the blazing white of the snow, those radiant locks of hair seemed Noxian. A hand, enfeebled and thin, was pushed vaguely in front of the figure, as if trying to ward away the unrelenting onslaught of the elements. Still, wearily, feebly the girl trudged on, for what, none could say. There was no solace in the cold wastes. Only the malice of lingering death, a constant companion who's voice could be heard in the shrieks of the wind, unyielding, constant, and always taunting. It was a one sided argument, and death was winning. The voice of the girl, long lost to the cold and frost, could do little against death's wailing cry. Despair was a struggle itself, to fight against, and still the girl felt it clutch at her despite her determination not to surrender. She had to make it to somewhere safe. She couldn't die. Not after her brother had given his life to save her. Not after she watched him butchered, eaten alive. With a new resolution, the girl gritted her teeth, and with the determination that would've made any Demacian champion beam with pride, she fought her way to the ivory towers that now peeked over the horizon.<p>

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><p>"ZINK'S HEXTECH PIZZERIA," read the sign above the peculiar shop. To the foreign eye, the clientele would have appeared a motley assortment of the strangest creatures. Tiny Yordles chattering in their pipsqueak voices, gaunt scientists with furrowed eyes and glasses with inch-thick lenses, piping women discussing the newest model of Heimerdinger's Solar-powered, self-operating, self-navigating, self-propelling, fully conscious, artificially intelligent hextech vacuum cleaner – the HSPSOSNSPFCAIHTVC for short. Among this odd assortment of characters though, there was a figure which would appear out of place even amongst them. She stood now, just behind the line of customers lining up for the fabulous, perfectly cooked, Zink's pizza – made so delicious by the precision and finesse of the newest line of Hextech kitchen apparatus.<p>

It was a miracle the girl was still alive, let alone lining up to buy – or shall we say, "acquire" – pizza. After walking not a short way from where we, dear reader, were first introduced to her trudging across the Runeterran wastes, she saw in the distance a giant, glowing sphere, and inside it, a whirring city of innovation. This, of course, was Piltover, as she read when she approached it. Passing through the skin of the sphere, which now appeared as a giant dome around the city, she saw a sign that read, "THE AMAZING BIODOMICAL CONTRAPTION OF ENVIRONMENTAL CONVENIENCE – Courtesy of Dr. Heimerdinger, emeritus, to safeguard and guard safely the humble and happy citizens of Piltover." The climate immediately inside the sphere, she found, was much more to her liking than the frigid wastes, and she soon recovered enough strength to keep two things chiefly in mind. The first was that she was hungry, naturally – starved and famished, some would say. The other was that she had no money.

She seemed little more than a curious oddity, though nothing too unusual, to the rest of the by-standers. Dirty blonde hair, a lithe figure swathed in a tattered traveling cloak, and piercing green eyes, that peered uncertainly behind silky bangs. At a humble 5'4'', she was relatively tall compared to the Yordles that seemed to bounce around her ankles, yet she was no giant. To the people waiting in line, she appeared to hesitate in deciding if she would like to purchase a pizza, and stepped many times in line, then out of it, glancing all around dubiously. Soon however, resolve made itself present to the girl, and she found herself at the front of the counter.

"What would you like my dear?" said the bald Yordle behind the counter, propped on a pillow, which was propped on another pillow, which was yet propped on another, and finally that entire package was propped on a stool, which was propped on a table.

The girl said nothing, and merely pointed at the menu which read "Large, Plain Cheese Pizza." The Yordle hopped off his perch, bustled around behind the counter for a short few seconds, and clambered back onto his pile of pillows, now precariously balancing a large, square box on his head. Having successfully accomplished the endeavor, he took the box off his head, turned to face the girl, and shoved the box towards her.

"That'll be one gold coin please, my darling!" piped the little Yordle. Of course, having no money of her own, she did the only thing she could possibly have done in the situation – she ran.

"Stop! Thief! THIEF! Stop that girl!" screeched the Yordle.

The girl said nothing, pushing past the staring crowd (who did nothing to stop her), clutching tightly onto the box, and ducking her head down. She ran as fast as her tired feet would let her, not caring for the aches that she had forgotten were there. She ran in the direction of where she entered the city, nearing towards where the bio-dome separated Piltover from the wastes, but soon became aware of a rhythmic knocking coming from behind her. She could not immediately distinguish the sound, and wondered about it for a minute, then it registered. Someone was chasing her – someone wearing boots.

"You had better drop the parcel and give yourself over, you little thief!" warned a feminine voice.

Despite herself, the girl remarked that it was quite sultry in nature. She also noted that the voice didn't seem in the least bit fatigued. She, on the other hand, was nearing the end of her rope.

"You've got three seconds, little girl! Don't make me, but I will! I will shoot!" the voice warned again.

She only ducked her head down, and ran harder. Her hair whipped into her face, obscuring her vision, she stumbled slightly.

"Three, two" – the girl seemed to inhale her breath, as if waiting for the shot, knowing she couldn't outrun her pursuer. Her grip on the pizza box tightened, a resolute gesture, if futile.

"One!" – cried the voice. The girl squeezed her eyes shut, expecting a loud bang, searing pain, perhaps in her chest, or foot, or somewhere horrible. Instead, there was a dull thump, and she felt the clutches of a net encasing her legs, head, arms, torso, everything. The weighted net quickly tightened around her, and she stumbled, failed to break her fall, and rolled her ankle. Her head hit the ground hard, and sheer happenstance dictated that her head trauma would not be cushioned by snow. With a resonating thud, her forehead banged against a stone, and everything went black.

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><p>At first, consciousness seemed an over-estimation of her condition. The girl opened her eyes slowly, and was immediately alerted to a splitting pain in her head. She was also made aware of someone in the room. Groggily, she tried to speak.<p>

"Wh-where am I?" she managed.

As her blurry vision became more clear, she saw that the figure was a woman. Dark, heavily lidded eyes were framed by a shock of thick, velvety brunette hair. The woman wore light make-up, and a strange attire. A low-cut, purple dress revealed the woman's satiny shoulders, and the dress ended mid-thigh, allowing a generous amount of flesh to show underneath. She was garnered with various belts, buckles, and straps, which were attached to various devices. Some of them seemed to be attached to nothing at all, and appeared to simply hang off the woman's body casually for no apparent reason. The girl recognized the tall boots that the woman wore as the origin of the sound she had heard when she was running. This woman had caught her. Though not as striking as her eyes, one element of the woman most curious was a purple top-hat. It was tall, ringed with what looked like monocles or lenses for the purposes of magnification, another strange metallic contraption the girl could make no sense of, and other patterned decorations. The hat perched daintily yet casually on the woman's head, which was now inclined towards the girl's direction. She swallowed, unused to the effect of those striking eyes.

"You are in my home. You are rather hurt and weary. But more importantly, you are a criminal, and you are under arrest." said the woman.

The memory of her crime flooded back, and the girl blushed, lowering her eyes in shame. Her stomach rumbled, as if it was indignant, but her greater sense of morality, now checked by another person, did not spare her the feeling of regret.

"I-I was only hungry, I'm very sorry. I didn't mean to do anything wrong -" she started to say.

"Then you shouldn't have stolen anything, thief!" barked the mysterious woman, sternly.

The girl couldn't help the tears that now leaked gracefully down her grimy face. Her tiny frame shook with the regret, the self-disgust, the self-loathing. She should've just starved and died. She did not notice it, but Caitlyn's face – for this certainly was Caitlyn, the Sheriff of Piltover – softened, and she let out an audible sigh. She turned to her small kitchenette and started stirring a big pot, which was warming on the stove. Caitlyn talked with her back to the girl.

"So, do you have a name?"

"Yes," said the girl in a sobbing voice.

"And it is?"

"Ch-Chante'le."

"Chante'le" repeated Caitlyn quietly to herself. She turned and set a bowl of soup in front of Chante'le.

"What are you doing?"

"You must be hungry, right?" Caitlyn looked pointedly at her.

As if in admission, Chante'le's stomach let out a grumble, drawing a blush from her. She looked down, but Caitlyn only smiled.

"Thank you..." she said in a small voice.

"Don't talk. Just eat. My name, by the way, is Caitlyn, and I am the resident Sheriff of Piltover."

Of course, this made Chante'le swallow hard, as everybody had heard of famous Caitlyn, the ruthless Sheriff and crime's merciless judge. However, Caitlyn only pressed the bowl into the girl's hands, and smiled again as Chante'le took it obediently and daintily began to spoon the hot soup into her mouth. As she ate, Caitlyn moved to the side of the bed. She carefully uncovered Chante'le's lower body. A pallid, yet lithe leg was revealed, with almost luminous, alabaster skin.

"W-what are you doing?" said Chante'le, alarmed.

"Relax child, I'm just checking your ankle. You have hurt it."

Chante'le settled back into the pillows and allowed Caitlyn access to her leg. She had finished her soup and set it aside. Caitlyn meanwhile, began unbuckling her glove straps. She loosened the gloves one by one, and pulling gently on each finger to release the glove. She took them off, and Chante'le was rewarded by the sight of a supple pair of hands, creamy and white. Although Caitlyn's attire was already revealing as it was, Chante'le couldn't help but feel strangely pleased inside as more of Caitlyn's body was revealed to her. Her eyes admired Caitlyn's hands, until they rested themselves on her ankle. Caitlyn's skin – whatever she could feel of it with her ankles at least – was smooth, delicate, and warm. Privately, Caitlyn thought the same of the girl's ankle.

"Does this hurt?" Caitlyn asked, rolling Chante'le's foot around in a circle, slowly.

Chante'le winced several times during the procedure, inducing nods from Caitlyn. She had not realized how inflamed and painful her ankle was. Caitlyn's delicate fingers however, soon alleviated that problem, massaging, caressing, stroking, and kneading her flesh gently. She barely managed to stifle a sigh that escaped her lips, though to Caitlyn, it was plainly audible.

"You won't be able to walk or stand on it for a few days, but that should be fine since you're not leaving here," said the Sheriff.

Chante'le nodded again, and couldn't help but feel another pang of regret at the remembrance of her thievery.

"Meanwhile, you should take a bath. You're dirtying my bed."

Caitlyn spoke with a smile, but it didn't help the surge of embarrassment that now tinged Chante'le's cheeks. She must have been filthy! She suddenly jerked out of bed because of it, tried to stand, wobbled, then crumpled to the floor, clutching her ankle.

"Easy little lady! I told you to be careful of that leg!" Caitlyn dropped down to one knee.

The older woman placed both her hands under Chante'le's shoulders, and lifted the small girl up easily, setting her carefully on her feet. As she started to fall again, Caitlyn steadied her and leaned Chante'le against her own body for support. In this fashion, they both managed to hobble into the bathroom. It was a good thing that Caitlyn, though feminine in every way, was strong, robust, and tall. She stood a good half-head taller than the ex-thief.

It was a small bathroom, with a large, perfectly circular tub in the middle of it. Marble white tiles adorned the square shaped room, and delicate ornaments emitted lights from the walls. They seemed to be in a permanent state of illumination, as Caitlyn had not touched any electrical switches upon entering. The result was that it was a dimly lit room, pleasant in ambiance, light enough for one to see what one was doing, but dim enough to be relaxing. Floral scents teased Chante'le's senses from diminutive bottles perched on the small shelf above the toilet, and from the bottles around the clam-shell-shaped sink, elucidating in Chante'le's mind, memories of days long past, of being clean, well-loved, well-fed, and well, home. She managed a small, sad smile, and unconsciously her grip tightened on the arm that now steadied her. It was a gesture that though subtle, Caitlyn didn't fail to notice. She felt a pang of almost motherly affection for the small girl, but for now at least, kept that emotional twinge to herself. She suddenly snapped out of her brief reverie, and noticed that Chante'le was hovering just next to the tub, seeming unsure. The walls of the tub came up to her chest. It was quite a luxurious pool.

"Well, I suppose I'll have to help you out a little bit, shan't I?" said the Sheriff. "I don't wonder that you can clamber into it yourself, much less stand up long enough to bathe, hmm?"

The Sheriff's tone was whimsical, casual, yet Chante'le felt a stab of apprehension at what this would entail. She felt a blush sneaking its way into her cheeks once more.

"Well, off with your clothes, Chante'le, we don't have all day you know."

Once again, the matter-of-fact tone in Caitlyn's voice seemed innocent, though Chante'le thought she knew better. Despite herself, she felt her own hands starting to disrobe the parcel of rags that adorned her body. She leaned against the tub for support.

Caitlyn was bustling about the sink, turned away from Chante'le. She was arranging the bottles, opening cabinets, pulling out soaps and other bathroom accessories. Yet, in the corner of her eye, she was looking at Chante'le's reflection in the sink mirror with a practiced cunning. As one of the girl's delectable shoulders made itself known to Caitlyn's eyes, Caitlyn felt a long-forgotten yet familiar warmth in her belly. Dismissing it quickly, she mixed more soaps and perfumes together, then turned to face the girl, who was down to the final rags covering her torso. Her legs, arms and shoulders were already bare. Caitlyn said nothing and waited.

Chante'le mumbled something incoherent, and tried to discard the final bits of clothing. She turned to face Caitlyn, waiting expectantly, with her eyes to the floor.

"I-I n-need your help..." she said softly.

Caitlyn was taken aback by the change in tone from the girl's voice. It was still oh-so-delicate, yes, but there was a strange tenor there, a hesitancy, yet simultaneous expectation. She started, then realized, the girl could not lift the rags covering her torso without removing her arms from the tub, and she couldn't stand upright to support herself otherwise. Caitlyn stepped closer to her, and obliged. Chante'le placed her arms around Caitlyn's neck for support, and she bristled at the more-than-casual contact.

She reached to the hem of Chante'le's rags, and lifted them gently, careful to avoid rubbing the rough fabric across the cuts and bruises she saw as each inch of Chante'le's body was exposed. She couldn't help her eyes, following the journey of the cloth, slowly up towards the navel, then exposing it. It was a cute belly-button, and outwards-sticking – "outie." She tugged higher, and was rewarded with the glimpse of a rib. Now, two ribs, then three – Caitlyn inhaled in tense expectation – and finally the rags slipped upwards enough to reveal the girl's pert breasts. The nipples were gently pink, yet tinged with a darker shade. For now, they stood at attention, and the miniscule bumps that textured the two sentinels were engorged with blood. Caitlyn could feel her own nipples hardening, but she did nothing. As she helped take the rags off the girl's arms that were now suspended above her own head, her elbow casually caressed one of the ripe, young buds, and the two women jolted in surprise, though the sensation was desperately ignored as Caitlyn cleared her throat.

"Ahem. You should probably um, step inside the tub."

The girl turned, pausing for only a moment with a peculiar expression on her face, and looked dubiously at the high walls of the bath. Carefully, she hoisted a leg up towards the rim, yet this required that she place all her weight on her other leg, which wobbled tremulously. Anticipating her fall, Caitlyn rushed her arms around the girls naked torso, along her ribs, and supported her weight. She half braced, half pushed and carried the girl over the rim of the tub, noting not absently that her arms now rested underneath Chante'le's breasts. Carefully, slowly, she eased Chante'le into the perfumed water, which was steaming hot. A soft, not-completely-innocent sigh escaped Chante'le's lips, and Caitlyn felt the need to reciprocate, but suppressed the desire for now.

The bath was methodical, though this didn't reduce it's sensuality. Chante'le couldn't remember the last time she had a bath like this – it was probably months ago, before her family was killed by the Noxian raid – and she missed the contact of warm human skin against her own. She could feel Caitlyn now raise her locks of hair, massaging her scalp and down to the base of her neck. Caitlyn's fingernails were long and feminine, but she seemed keenly aware not to abrade Chante'le's already abused skin, and used her delicate finger-pads instead. She massaged the shampoo and conditioner into the girl's hair, which produced a rhythmic scrubbing sound that set Chante'le at ease. She leaned her head back and almost purred. The Sheriff herself tried to hide a muted smile, wondering at herself for fraternizing with "criminals." She gazed lovingly down at the little thief now resting her head against the rim of the tub, dangerously close to Caitlyn's own breasts. She chuckled at the upside-down look of pleasure from the figure in the tub.

Next, Caitlyn began to knead the young girl's shoulders, elucidating many gentle moans and sighs of content. Though they had only been in the tub for five minutes or so, Chante'le's sense of decency seemed to have evaporated as readily as the steam from the hot, floral-scented water. Before moving down to more nether regions, Caitlyn was careful to pay attention to Chante'le's ears, using her soapy fingers to massage the back of those sensitive organs. Chante'le couldn't help but giggle in delight, and she felt muscle contractions in her stomach and legs of blissful delight. Caitlyn herself smiled, almost motherly, and helped her prisoner to stand up.

Perhaps it was the strange, pleasing scents and lotions, perfumes, shampoos, soaps, and other herbs that graced the little bathroom with an aroma of hazy semi-consciousness, or the steaming bath that produced much of the same effects, or perhaps it was Caitlyn's expertly controlled fingers, pressing upon points of Chante'le's body that seemed to make the girl forget where she was and who she was with. Chante'le offered no resistance. By the time Caitlyn's methodical hands pressed themselves against Chante'le's more womanly regions, Chante'le did not jump in surprise, nor did she possess any of the apprehension that first plagued her thoughts when she entered the bathroom. The warming in her belly was already there, a familiar friend, not a sudden invader triggered by the invasion of such sensitive body parts. The hazing of the mind that came with sexual – or sensual – arousal had already implanted itself firmly into her brain, so she was not alerted to it's presence by any suddenness or surprise. In all, it seemed a natural, sublime experience, and Chante'le only wrapped her hands around Caitlyn's neck for support, her awareness far beyond noticing that she had drenched Caitlyn's uniform at the collar-line, beyond noticing that Caitlyn did not seem to care. She continued in this way, being washed by the older woman, standing semi-conscious, until all indication of hardship, soot, grime and weariness had relieved itself from the habituation of her body, and she was fully clean. Her blonde hair now shined pale, platinum-gold, and her alabaster skin seemed to radiate with natural lucidity like the soap suds that floated on top of the water. Caitlyn sneakily remarked to herself the color of the girl's hair "down there," yet quickly remonstrated herself for the observation, and hoisted the now-clean girl out of the tub.

"Wait here," she said to the girl, who seemed to be coming slowly out of her trance-like state. Caitlyn let her sit on the closed toilet.

"Let me get you something to sleep in."

Caitlyn disappeared into the bedroom, then reappeared after a short rustle through her drawers. She was holding silky-satiny robe, and seemed almost apologetic.

"I'm afraid all I have for you is my bathrobe, but prisoners don't get to be choosy, do they?" She smiled roguishly, and this time, Chante'le seemed pleased at the label. After being coarsely dried by plump towels, she allowed herself to be fitted into the robe like a small child, looking slightly ridiculous in it. Her stature and frame was already small, yet Caitlyn's robe was far too-oversized for her. She looked like a child playing dress up. Privately, Caitlyn thought that it complimented her prisoner perfectly well, allowing enough slack for the prisoner's décolletage to expose itself well, but of course she kept such sentiments to herself.

"I only have one bed so..." but the girl had already hobbled over next to Caitlyn's bed, and lay herself on the floor. Now that she was out of the steamy bathroom, she seemed to have snapped out of her trance, and was embarrassed once more.

"It's alright!" she piped. "I'm perfectly fine here!"

She turned away from Caitlyn, curled into a fetal position. Caitlyn was sure she was trying to hide a blush, so smiling, she took one of the many pillows from her own bed, and tucked it under the girl's head, then covered her with a blanket. Chante'le curled even tighter into a ball which caused her head to go entirely under the blanket. Caitlyn smiled again at the small, warm ball, then started to disrobe herself. She noticed that a bit of Chante'le's platinum blonde hair peeked out from a crack in the covers.

Off came many of the straps that Caitlyn wore, the hat, the clasps. As she worked, Chante'le could hear her from under the blanket, but resisted the urge to steal a glance, although the sensation to do so became even more enticing as she could hear the mechanical click of leather straps and metal buckles change into the soft, ruffled hustling of Caitlyn removing what could only be her dress. Caitlyn then removed her boots, revealing pedicured toes, and placed them daintily at the foot of her bed. Stepping carefully over the prone form of Chante'le, she climbed onto her own bed, took off her hat, which she placed on her bedside table (next to it lay her rifle propped against the wall, always at arms reach), and settled into the nest of pillows.

"Chante'le?"

"Hmm?" Came a sleepy voice.

"Promise me you won't run away. I don't want to have to cuff you."

"I promise."

Smiling, satisfied to herself, Caitlyn mumbled a "goodnight," then let sleep caress her eyelids until they closed.

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><p>"She's broken her promise," Caitlyn thought silently to herself as consciousness awakened her from slumber.<p>

It was pitch black, past midnight, and all the lights in the room were out. She could dimly see by the illumination of the room, the form of Chante'le next to her bed. She could see movement where Chante'le lay. Silently, she prepared to grab her gun, but made no movement. Chante'le seemed oblivious to her wakefulness, and kept on fidgeting. Caitlyn was about to ask what was the matter when suddenly –

"Ahh...ohhhh..." came a sensual voice.

It was quite unlike the childish, piping voice of the girl she had arrested. She was intrigued, and remained silent, hoping to hear the sound again. After a few more moments, her patience was rewarded.

"Mmmmnmmm..." came a little whimper.

Caitlyn was frozen in shock. She eyed the small bundle carefully. The blanket was half-off the girl, and the pale moonlight illuminated her radiant, alabaster skin. What flesh wasn't covered with the satin robe now smiled unashamedly at Caitlyn's watchful eyes. Perhaps, the effect was all-the-more striking by the layer of sweat that covered each inch of Chante'le's exposed body. Her legs were apart, and Caitlyn could see her hand moving between the valley that they formed.

Her sharp eyes seemed to hone in between the girl's legs. She could see the delicate fingers playing with the soft tufts of hair down there, equally platinum as the curls on her head. Her hand seemed to be moving in a circular motion, and a series of sounds emitted unconsciously from the throat of the girl. As Caitlyn watched Chante'le's hands moved faster, and she drew her feet up, curling into a tight fetal ball once again, with an exception this time – her hands remained between her legs, and now an audible slick sound seemed to puncture the solitude of the room. Caitlyn, half fascinated, half apprehensive and almost disgusted, wanted to turn away, but her eyes remained stubbornly upon Chante'le's rigid form.

The girl's other hand was visible now that her leg movements had displaced the blanket. Caitlyn could see that it was grasping tightly on a corner of the satin robe. As her eyes honed in on those tightly clutched fingers, they released their grip, and began to traverse Chante'le's body upward. During this journey, the hand slipped inside the now-gaping robe, and a breast was bared for the moon's, as well as Caitlyn's viewing pleasure. Now, the hand rubbed across the nipple, closing upon the breast, and began kneading. An inarticulate cry now burst free from the girl, who was completely oblivious.

"Ahhhah... oh!"

Her movements now became faster, more sporadic, and it appeared to Caitlyn, more desperate. She could almost feel the air in the room become heavy, and the smell of lewdness and sin permeated every inhalation of breath, yet despite feeling unclean, Caitlyn found her own body inclined to reciprocate in kind. She caught herself however, and focused her attention back upon the girl, who had started trembling. Her breathing now audibly increased, and her breasts heaved with new vigor.

"Hahh... hahh... hahh.."

The girl's movements seemed to reach an apex, her hands, feet, and fingers twisting in the utmost throes of desperation. Muscles knotted, and sweat popped from Chante'le's brow. Her body quivered with energy and her breasts wobbled slightly on her chest. She tensed suddenly – her body went rigid and only her ankles, arms and the back of her head touched the floor as her body assumed the shape of a delicious skyward arc.

"Ohh... no... oh... uhhhaa god!"

With this final series of cries, her body began to shiver violently, twist, and contort. Caitlyn watched on, her mouth becoming steadily drier, and she was aware of her own hand edging towards her nether regions. She stopped immediately upon being cognizant of the thought. Chante'le rolled over to her side, and curled once again into a ball. A satisfied sigh escaped those thin, kissable lips.

After not moving for a few moments after to ensure that Chante'le remained ignorant of her consciousness, Caitlyn eased herself quietly back into her nest of pillows. She had an uncomfortable wetness between her thighs, and a flame that seemed unable to be extinguished in her belly, loins, and legs. Her extremities were sweating, and the movement of the fabric against her chest electrified her into realizing that her nipples were now extremely hard, and sensitive. She closed her eyes, and tried to force herself to sleep, fighting not to obsess over what she had just witnessed, but of course it was futile. She was unnerved, scared, anxious, and aroused all at once. She fought many times against mimicking Chante'le's adventure between her own legs, but her hands seemed especially stubborn tonight.

All was still now, and the heat of the moment seemed to slowly abate in the cool of the evening Snowdown moon. However, a sudden utterance from Chante'le almost made Caitlyn give away the fact that she was still awake.

"C-caitlyn... oh Caitlyn..." the girl cooed softly.

Caitlyn didn't have to look, but she could imagine the satisfied smile that now rested on Chante'le's face. The question of why her name, in that context, would be invoked, could not leave her mind. Caitlyn closed her eyes, hoping the specter of sleep would be merciful tonight and take her quickly.

It was not.

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><p>Over the next two weeks, the couple assumed a state of co-habitation in the small but comely house that the Sheriff of Piltover had afforded herself. Chante'le was the resident housekeeper, cook, and prisoner. Caitlyn assumed guardianship, and "bread-winner" duties, although why the Sheriff was keeping her at her home rather than in a jail cell, was beyond Chante'le. She had inquired once, of course, but was only rewarded with a curt answer that did little to explain anything.<p>

"Want to stay in the jail cell with the rest of the vagrants, rogues, thieves, and criminals? No child, you wouldn't last a day in there."

And that was the end of that.

Between them, nothing happened that was sexual in nature. Chante'le's leg wounds had healed healthily within the matter of a few days, and soon she could feed, dress, and bathe herself. Secretly, she still wished that she were injured, so she could feel Caitlyn's hands assisting her in those activities once again, and many times she caught herself entertaining the notion of getting in an "accident," yet failed to summon the willpower to carry her musings to fruition. It was painfully easy to think of ways to do this, perhaps a misstep as she carried hot soup, or slipping up in the tub or bathroom as she cleansed her body. Chante'le was still unaware that Caitlyn had been awake the night she had masturbated. Recently, she could see though that Caitlyn had assumed duties revolving around a particular case, that seemed to sap her of much of her strength, and Chante'le had resolved not to become more of a burden to her warden and savior. Many days she came home late, well past midnight, and would look pallid in complexion and egregiously weary. During these periods, Chante'le would take it upon herself to serve up soup, or whatever humble food she had prepared, sometimes even starting to feed the tired Sheriff herself, until she seemed to come about her senses and take the spoon from Chante'le's hesitant grasp. Though she tried to be dutiful and patient, wishing for more affection from the encumbered Sheriff, soon loneliness sank in as she spent more days without Caitlyn's company, and she heartily wished she could leave the now-forlorn shelter. It was during this particular time, during a particularly thick blizzard, and after a particularly long wait to no avail, that Chante'le decide to run away. As soon as she concluded upon the notion however, the door burst open, and Caitlyn stumbled inside.

"Caitlyn!"

The figure of Caitlyn fell down immediately onto the floor, not even having closed the door. An evil wind cut into the warmth of the cottage and seemed to sap the life from the air. The chill reminded Chante'le of her own brutal track through the wastes of Runeterra before she had been caught, and she hastily leaned her whole body against the door, struggling against the wind to shut it. She did, and the howl of the blizzard was abruptly cut off. Turning to Caitlyn, she knelt beside her to assess her situation. Immediately, she saw blood.

"Caitlyn! Caitlyn! Tell me what's wrong, Caitlyn!"

She shook her savior violently, but she only got an incoherent mumble in return. There was a curious wetness that soaked through Chante'le's robe in the knee area. Looking to find the source, she saw a patch of discoloration on Caitlyn's side. Clumsily, Chante'le hiked up Caitlyn's dress, and she could see a ragged wound under her breast, along the ribcage. It seemed to be a laceration, perhaps from a knife, or a close bullet. She was too shocked and horrified to register any sexual arousal at the sight of Caitlyn's unhindered breasts, and as she watched, the wound seemed to seep with more blood.

Chante'le ran to the bathroom, rummaging through the various bottles and cabinets to find some form of first aid, but was immediately interrupted in her search by a thunderous crash coming from outside.

She rushed back out to Caitlyn, and saw that the Sheriff had pulled herself up, seemingly forced back into consciousness. Blood still dripped from the wound, and it seeped through the dress, visible to the moonlight. There was another explosive crash, and one of the windows shattered. Another crash, and another window, nearer to Caitlyn this time, shattered as well.

"Get down!" cried the Sheriff.

Chante'le dived onto the floor. Shouldering her own rifle, Caitlyn stuck her tongue between her teeth in concentration, and aimed out into the raging Blizzard. At what precisely she was aiming at, Chante'le could not tell, as the snow did everything in it's power to obscure her vision, yet she knew Caitlyn's practiced eye was searching for something. There was another crash, and it was the window next to Caitlyn's head that exploded this time. One more crash and it would be the window that Caitlyn herself was facing out of that would be shattered. A peculiar stillness seemed to settle in the air.

"In my sights..." came an involuntary whisper and – boom! An explosion split the air.

Time seemed to slow to a halt, and Chante'le watched as the window erupted directly in front of the Sheriff's face. Whether it was the shockwave of the window breaking, or Caitlyn's own unnatural swiftness, her head moved minutely to the left, and the bullet that surged through the opening did not land a fatal wound to Caitlyn's head – as was the intended target – rather, it grazed her on the right cheek. Just as a thin red line of blood appeared between the parted flesh, Caitlyn discharged her own weapon. Her fingers were slick with sweat and blood, and the gun roared above the gale of the storm, throwing a fierce kickback into Caitlyn's shoulder. The Sheriff's body trembled with the impact, but her practiced stance and grim determination ensured that her shot was aimed true, and she heard a muted cry that pierced through the howling of the wind.

There were more shots, but they were now poorly aimed, and Caitlyn did nothing to dodge them, and they did nothing to hurt her. She fired again, inducing another cry of pain. Satisfied again, she allowed a grim smile to arrange itself on her face, and called.

"Give it up! You're hit twice, and you're about to die. Want another shot?"

Her taunt however, was answered, much to Chante'le's surprise, as she expected the second bullet from Caitlyn's rifle to be fatal. A deep, masculine voice rumbled with laughter, and echoed back to the destroyed room through the smashed windows.

"Easy partner. I ain't got time to bleed!"

With that rebuttal, followed by more dark laughter, the voice faded, and footsteps were heard of boots trudging away from the house. Soon, even those were swallowed up by the wind, and satisfied that the danger was over, Caitlyn allowed herself to fall back to the floor, in a dead faint.

Chante'le now rushed over, desperate with worry at the expended warrior. She clutched a first aid kit that she had found in the rubble, and hastily tore out a large bandage. Once again, she lifted Caitlyn's bodice to find the wound on her ribs. She noticed nervously that Caitlyn heaved with perspiration – a fatal condition in the freezing, exposed setting. It would've been fine if the cottage was intact, but the fight had done much damage to the front side of the house, and a bitter wind freely invaded the small space. Finding a soothing anti-bacterial cream, she judiciously applied some to the cut on Caitlyn's side, and quickly wrapped the bandage around the wound, making sure to keep some pressure on it to stop the bleeding. Having finished the make-shift first-aid, she examined the rest of Caitlyn's body. Feeling Caitlyn's wrist, she found that her pulse was decreased below normal levels, which worried Chante'le. Caitlyn was making incoherent noises, trying occasionally to push Chante'le's hands away each time she lifted a garment to examine her for any more wounds. Paranoia or confusion? Perhaps, or a more bashful emotion that Chante'le's desperation couldn't afford. She impatiently batted the Sheriff's hands away. Chante'le noticed that her lips were blue – a very bad sign of hypothermia, and her concern increased tenfold. There was nothing she could burn for fire, and even if she had fire-starting materials she could not start one in the howling gale. Caitlyn worryingly started to tremble more violently, and Chante'le decided she had no choice.

Quickly stripping off her robe, she laid it on top of the quilt that covered the small mattress, after brushing off debris and glass from where they lay on the bed. She struggled to lift up Caitlyn, laying her on the bed briefly, before pulling off the hat, boots, and straps that adorned her usual attire. She tore off the badly-damaged, blood soaked dress, and quickly grabbed a towel from the bathroom which she used to mop any remnant blood and sweat from Caitlyn's now naked body.

Despite the urgency of the situation, Chante'le couldn't help herself as her eye quickly glanced over the woman's sex. Shaking her head free of such thoughts, she threw the towel back down to the floor, and pushed Caitlyn down on the bed, forcing her protesting hands underneath the quilt. Wary of herself but desperate to warm her savior, she climbed under the blanket with the Sheriff. Turning on her side to face Caitlyn, she wrapped her arms around Caitlyn's stomach, just under the Sheriff's breasts, and curled her legs to embrace Caitlyn's within her own, like cuddling a giant cushion. Placing her head on top of Caitlyn's shoulder and burrowing into the curve of the Sheriff's neck, Chante'le lay in this position, desperately listening to Caitlyn's erratic breathing, and hoping that her body warmth would be enough to save the woman. Over several minutes, their combined body heat began to warm the small gap beneath the blankets.

Chante'le had been chilled getting naked and stripping Caitlyn of her own clothes, but she stopped shivering first. She continued to clutch the unconscious Sheriff however, until she was satisfied that Caitlyn's breathing had returned to normal. She peered up at Caitlyn's lips, and was so relieved to see color had started to tinge back into them. Smiling in gratitude at providence, she nuzzled her own lips into Caitlyn's jawline (what could the Sheriff do? She was unconscious, may as well take the chance, thought Chante'le) and planted a gentle kiss on her chin. She could smell Caitlyn now, holding her so closely. Sure, there was the faint tang of sweat that permeated her scent, but Chante'le could smell underneath that, a unique musk, rich with body and weightiness. It was better than any perfume, and it soothed her enough for sleep to claim her.

Perhaps it was mere happenstance, and Caitlyn had happened amongst a pleasant dream, but unseen to Chante'le's eyes, who had her face buried into Caitlyn's neck, the Sheriff of Piltover's lips unconsciously curled into a smile.

* * *

><p>Caitlyn awoke and felt as if she was buried under a very heavy pillow. Glancing down at her naked body ("Who had taken her clothes?" She thought), which made her flush, she realized that the comfortable weight on her shoulder was in fact a very blonde, very warm head. As she glanced down on the top of it, her nose picked up the floral-scented hair. She saw the smiling lips, the peaceful breaths, and closed eyes, and decided not to spoil the moment by waking her captive. Lying back down, she thought about the past night, and it started coming back to her. She could vaguely remember the fight with the unknown criminal, though he was one of the best she'd ever had to face, and she was sure it had been taxing and brutal. Thinking upon this, she winced at a pain on her side, and she looked down to see a badly-placed-but-serviceable-bandage wrapping her ribs. So, she had been shot then, and this young woman had patched her up, had she? She looked fondly again at the heavy, warm head and stroked the girl's hair behind her ear, planting a soft kiss on Chante'le's forehead. She stirred, but did not wake.<p>

Shifting her body so she faced Chante'le, Caitlyn realized that Chante'le's legs and arms were draped slovenly over her own body. Despite herself, she couldn't help but feel a seductive pleasure where their skin made contact. How long had it been? How long had it been since she allowed herself the pleasures of romance, of love, and of... other things? When had she last taken a break from her job of hunting criminals? She couldn't remember. Crime had no holidays, and so neither did she. It was a vaguely depressing fact.

Chante'le suddenly turned away from Caitlyn, curling into the fetal position she was so accustomed to, forcing her dainty rump into the side of the Sheriff's leg. Caitlyn's arm was being used as a pillow by the girl, but she didn't mind. She was not so heavy that she cut off the Sheriff's blood circulation, and Caitlyn rather enjoyed the mix of heaviness, hair, and soft breathing she could feel from the crook of her elbow to her wrist. Smiling, she began to stroke Chante'le's hair, that spilled down her gorgeous back and occasionally her fingertips would brush against the swell of the small girl's breasts. After a few moments, her curiosity got the better of the Sheriff, and she hesitantly began to stroke Chante'le's ribs, hips, and buttocks, that were so enticingly resting against her own leg. This continued for several more minutes until suddenly, she felt a peculiar hotness coming from the palm of the hand which was being used as a pillow by the girl. It was accompanied by a curious smacking sound. Confusedly, she stroked Chante'le's rump again, paying particular attention to her firm buttocks. This time, a warm, wet sensation encased her index figure, accompanied by a muted giggle. In response, she squeezed Chante'le's butt firmly, and was rewarded with a delicious peal of laughter.

"Hah! Ahahah! Stop! Stop that tickles!" said the cheeky girl.

Caitlyn, before she could respond, felt another sucking sensation this time on her middle finger. It was incredibly sensual and erotic, and she felt the girl take the whole of the digit into her mouth, deeply, swirling her tongue around the finger like it was a... different organ. It seemed as if the act had awakened long slumbering nerves in that small surface of skin, and Caitlyn found it to be a delicious pleasure. The hot mouth retreated, but not before nipping Caitlyn's finger playfully on the finger pad. It then moved to the ring finger, and this time, as Caitlyn was once again absorbed in the sensation, she felt a stirring in her belly and a heat begin it's fiery path between her legs. In response, she wiggled her sucked finger feebly, and was rewarded by a throaty chuckle, which only served to enhance the sensation to incredible heights.

"Ohhh..." Caitlyn let out a lewd moan, quite unlike her usual character.

Chante'le, now fully awake, felt the heat spreading within her, and nuzzled her rump deeper into Caitlyn's body. She planted a hot kiss in the middle of the Sheriff's captive palm. Eyeing the delicate flesh with relish, she observed that Caitlyn's habitual use of gloves seemed to render her hands softer, less coarsened by weathering and tan, and she placed the skin of Caitlyn's wrist in her mouth, licking and sucking with glee. She pushed it with her tongue, and noted it's wonderful pliancy. With a cunning smile, she worked her way up to the crook of Caitlyn's elbow.

"Steady little one –" she gasped. "Be gentle with me."

Chante'le, heedless of her words, planted a especially long kiss there, which drew another gasp from the Sheriff. Then, she nipped her way up to those alabaster shoulders... up more, and now she reached the neck. The skin there seemed to carry the scent of Caitlyn's hair, and the emboldened girl nuzzled deep into the silken flesh.

"Unhh..." sighed the Sheriff of Piltover. Even a Noxian prostitute would've blushed at her voice's inflection.

Kiss after kiss was planted on the neck of the helpless Sheriff, and Caitlyn crossed her arms above her head, freeing more of her décolletage. They were pinned in place by one of Chante'le's slender, but firm hands, and this left the Sheriff powerless to stop the roving kisses that now found their way dangerously close to her engorged nipples. A fire now burned steadily in Caitlyn's loins, and her eyes seemed to mist over with unabated lust. She felt a sticky residue soak the sheets between the valley of her legs, and her breathing assumed an erotic deliberateness – each breath elongated and slowed, causing her breasts to heave very obviously. In such a state, Caitlyn would have turned tomato red with shame at her own lewdness, yet her mind was far past that point already, and the red flush of her cheeks was not from shame. With a smile, Chante'le acquainted one of the budding, eager nipples to her lips.

"Gah! Ahhh!" cried the hapless Sheriff.

She twisted and turned, but could not free her weakened arms from the grip of the girl. Ordinarily, such a movement would have elicited a sharp pain from the bullet wound in her side, and indeed the pain was induced, yet Caitlyn did not feel it acutely. Rather, the painful sensation mingled with the pleasure she felt at the lashing of Chante'le's tongue, and pain and pleasure mixed in a sensual marinade. Her rib muscles spasmed as a result of this sensation, which caused Caitlyn to involuntarily cry out even more in reckless abandon.

Chante'le's free left hand found it's way to Caitlyn's other nipple, and gently but firmly, imprisoned the delicate flesh between two fingers. She chuckled against the flesh of Caitlyn's breast, and simultaneously rolled her fingers.

"Aihhyy ahh!" yelped Caitlyn.

Fire lashed and continually tortured the Sheriff's sweat-covered body, yet Chante'le refused to desist. She continued to suck, lick, and twirl her fingers and tongue, and she could feel Caitlyn pull her feet up to her chest in a convulsion of the entire body. With an inexpressibly profane scream, the Sheriff exploded in violent orgasm, thrusting her chest out so strongly that Chante'le almost lost her grip on Caitlyn's nipples, and succeeded in pulling them hard. Despite this though, the Sheriff seemed to be past pain, and only emitted another yelp of orgasm.

Secondary convulsions crashed across the Sheriff's sweating frame, causing her limbs to quake uncontrollably, and she let out yet another cry of pure bliss. She seemed beyond sanity, and brought her head down to Chante'le's own breasts, thrusting her face deep between them, and screaming her orgasm into the marble valleys of flesh. Chante'le held her firmly, yet gently, until the shudders had subsided, though this took a considerably long time. She stroked the sea of brunette hair all-the-while, then she planted a soft kiss on that fragrant forehead. Finally, Caitlyn looked up.

"That was..." sighed Caitlyn.

"...incredible..." finished Chante'le.

Caitlyn smirked knowingly.

"How long have you wanted to do that to me?"

"I don't know. I..."

"Do you have a thing for law-enforcement officers, Chante'le? Is that why you became a thief?"

"N-no! That is to say..." –

"...to say what? Hmm little one?"

"That is to say, j-just you!" Chante'le declared, and immediately glowed crimson, realizing her careless slip of the tongue.

There was a long pause, where Caitlyn caught the pair of green eyes with her own. Chan'tele, struggled, and looked away, unable to meet the profound brown eyes of the woman she had fallen in love with.

"I see... just me? For how long?" probed the Sheriff of Piltover.

Chante'le just pouted, burying her head into Caitlyn's ribs, and deigning to answer. It was cute to watch her bashfulness suddenly return, after the bold adventure into Caitlyn's body. Caitlyn however, placed her right hand under the girl's chin, tilting it upwards towards her own face, and used her left hand to stroke away the bangs covering those exceptionally expressive emerald eyes. She cradled the girl's warm, lovely head between her palms, meeting her lover's eyes evenly. Brown eyes met green once again, yet this time, the spirit of the ages seemed to judge the combination, a well-matching palette. Chante'le felt as if she could not look away, as if to do so – no matter how much she wanted to, unable to stand the crescendo of emotions swirling in her chest – would be awfully wrong.

"Since the first night you... played with yourself, thinking of me?" asked Caitlyn gently, only half-teasing, more soft, more serious, and more earnest.

"H-how did you" – but Chante'le was immediately silenced as Caitlyn pressed her lips against her lover's.

Using her tongue, she gently begged passage between the girl's two plump guardians, and was rewarded as Chante'le's lips spread apart, accepting her into her mouth. She could feel the little bumps of her teeth, the rough roof of her mouth, and the warm, wet, firm-yet-soft muscle of Chante'le's tongue, struggling against her own. A muskiness seemed to seal the two women together. Mischief and passion saw their opportunity to evict reason and prudence, and soon the two women were once again bated in breath, and absolutely engulfed in that unrelenting flame.

"Now, Chante'le, let me take care of you," whispered Caitlyn breathlessly, into that small, nubile ear, and giving it a playful nip.

The sensuality of that voice alone caused Chante'le to hunch her shoulders tight and attempt to curl into a ball once again, but Caitlyn would have none of it, climbing over her to rest between the younger girl's thighs. Now, Chante'le was imprisoned, unable to close or curl her legs, and absolutely vulnerable. She whimpered. Caitlyn, in the middle of a kiss placed between Chante'le's fleshy breasts, chuckled at the girl's futile struggle, and the vibration of her laughing lips caused enticing ripples of bliss to resonate deep into the girl's belly, through her nipples and through the fleshy mounds that supported them.

"Aghh! Ah!" Chante'le squealed in half delight, half helplessness.

In response, Caitlyn brought her head lower, kissing all the way – punctured with some licks, of course – and found the girl's outwards-sticking belly button. She took the small member into her mouth, and lightly flicked it with her tongue.

"Oh! Huh!" ejaculated the prisoner. "What on earth are you! -" but she was silenced again, as Caitlyn's fingers somehow found their way down to stroke her thighs.

The sensations seemed to war with each other. Caitlyn's tongue movements were short, abrupt, and intense, flicking that sensitive nub over and over again, yet her hand stroked the two meaty hams of Chante'le's thighs languidly, almost lazily, sometimes pausing to grasp the circumference in an exploratory hold. The battle of emotions burst out from Chante'le's panting mouth – shrieks, cries, and even cooes. It did not take long for the moist heat between her legs to reach a level of damnable lewdness, yet she was so far gone that propriety or shyness could not rescue her now. Caitlyn's head moved dangerously lower. She, was most certainly "on the case."

"Pffhhhoooo..." the Sheriff exhaled a throaty breath outwards onto Chante'le's rosy womanhood.

Her whole body seemed to shiver in desperate anticipation. Caitlyn placed her fingers near the edges of that lovely chasm, and spread the flesh. Bright, vivid pink peeked out, and Chante'le's embarrassed blush intensified to resemble the color of her nether lips.

"S-stop that! It's so wicked..."

"Wicked? Haha! Girl, I am the Sheriff. I am the law," replied Caitlyn with a sardonic grin.

Chante'le could do nothing but exhale slowly, the heat in her throat seemed to prevent any speech, and the fire flooded to her cheeks, and soon swooned to her head, causing dizziness.

"P-please..." she whispered.

Caitlyn smiled again, and rested her lips on the inner thigh of Chante'le's leg. Stars appeared in front of the girl's eyes, and the moment seemed to drag on for a while. Caitlyn, smiling inwardly, then pursed her lips, completing the kiss with a gentle smack and caress of that languid tongue. The stars exploded. Radiant ecstasy erupted from that point of contact, causing Chante'le to cry out yet again.

"Gahh! Oh Caitlyn, please!"

No, not this officer. She would take things at her own pace. She planted another deliberately slow kiss on the other thigh, eliciting the most adorable of whimpers from the ravaged girl.

"Hnnn!"

Caitlyn chuckled now, and withdrew, watching Chante'le quietly, her face framed between Chante'le's pearly legs. The girl looked down her own sweating body, meeting the Sheriff's steady gaze. The heave of her breasts obscured her vision intermittently, but that interruption did not diminish the inhuman voracity that pronounced itself in Caitlyn's eyes. Yet, still she held back, only smiling with predatory fierceness and watching the emerald eyes with her own brown ones. Chante'le felt vulnerable, like a deer about to be pounced by a wolf. The wait only served to heighten Chante'le's desperation. She wanted it, wanted something, to satiate the maddening inferno that seemed to consume her tactile senses. Her lips parted wider now, hesitantly, with a breath escaping from the middle of them. Along with yet another slow exhalation, came the utterance of a plea.

"C-Caitlyn... please... I beg you..."

In the Sheriff's rapt eyes, a leviathan awoke, and something once imprisoned seemed to swim in those fathomless depths, free at last.

Caitlyn's lips parted, and her tongue pressed against Chante'le's swollen rose. There was a moment's hesitation, and then the tongue swirled.

At last.

"Oahhh! Nyahhh!" – a violent scream tore itself from Chante'le's throat. Caitlyn wanted to hear those cries again, and she continued to swirl.

"Unh! Hyah!" as the girl fought against the savage pleasure, Caitlyn's determination hardened. She withdrew the whip of her tongue, and lashed again and again.

In Chante'le's mind, there was only fire, a white pleasure that was so intense it seemed to resemble agony. She could not bear it, and her fingers fluttered futilely at Caitlyn's head – a useless struggle. Caitlyn seized the stubborn hands of the girl, imprisoning them in one of her own, and continued lashing.

As if to remonstrate Chante'le for her brief rebellion, Caitlyn now employed her other hand, pushing her way into Chante'le's vaginal cavity with two of her fingers. She probed, exploring, and encountered a smooth pillow of flesh, burning with heat. The girl's eyes now shut closed tightly, for the surges of pleasure were unbearable. Cries continued to come from Chante'le's mouth, which escalated steadily.

The ecstasy had now crested into a tsunami of red-white destruction. Inarticulate yelps streamed from Chante'le's gasping lips, and the wave seemed to reach it's apex. Without warning, Caitlyn's tongue found what it had been looking for – the dangerously sensitive, nubile button of flesh called the clitoris – and she at once stabbed it with her tongue like a dagger. Simultaneously, the Sheriff curled her fingers within that tight ring of muscle, inducing a long, protracted scream from Chante'le. It was as if she was firing a gun, yet this was an explosion far more powerful than anything she had ever triggered before.

"Auhhhhhhhh!"

Chante'le's eyes flared wide in shock and pleasure so acute it was agony. Her body writhed, hands grasping at whatever they could – bedsheets, flesh, and Caitlyn's silken hair. The girls' toes curled, and once again her spine arched into that unmistakable arc, a prostration towards heaven itself. Within her the tsunami had come crashing down, and in it's wake was left a path of incineration and jangled nerves.

The muscles of her thighs, belly, and even calves knotted and squeezed, spreading the sensation of release across her entire being. Her eyes did not seem to satisfy themselves with simply opening wide, so her pupils rolled into the back of her head. Her entire being was shattered into oblivion, and with a final ejaculation, she thrust herself with barbarous savagery into the soft sheets of the bed. A prisoner being tortured by the rack and screw could not have been more spent than Chante'le in that moment.

As sanity and consciousness took their leave of her, she felt herself embraced by Caitlyn's warm, protective arms. All the muscles in her body had been turned into pulp, and she could do nothing but rest between those two pillars of flesh. She felt her bangs being gently pushed aside, and a cooling palm was pressed against her sweating cheeks, soothing them. Then, a final, hot kiss was planted on her forehead, and with eyes cast towards heaven, she drifted off into slumber.

The seasons looked upon the sleeping girl, and moved along with just a sigh.

* * *

><p>It had been four years since that fateful night, and she was alone again. Her brother was already gone, she knew this, he was already dead, along with the rest of her family. Caitlyn too, had gone, left her alone, saying she led far too dangerous a life to be around the young girl. Chante'le had tried to follow her of course, roaming from city to city, but there was no trace of her lover to be found. Eventually, she gave up, and determined that she had to get stronger, faster, smarter, and she did.<p>

But it was happening all over again.

She watched helplessly as the giant scorpion lifted her brother in a giant pincer. He yelled at her, knowing his death was near.

"Run! Chante'le run! Never mind me, just get out of" – but with a sickening crunch, his yells abruptly turned into gurgles of blood, and his severed torso fell in to parts to the ground. His arms still twitched, but his eyes had turned glassy. He was dead.

"No!" Not again! I'm stronger this time! I'm going to kill you!"

Wiping the tears from her eyes, Chante'le lunged forward in grim determination, the metallic claws that were attached to her forearms dragging against the ground. Sparks ignited from friction with the floor and the stream of sparks was reflected in the monster's eyes. She leaped into the air with a fierce cry, bringing the weapon slicing down. With an inhuman shriek, the left pincer was suddenly on the floor, spurting green blood. The creature reared on it's hind-legs in fury and agony, but Chante'le was ready. She darted left, right, dodging a clumsy thrust of the creature's barbed tail. As it's right pincer tried to claim her, she jumped sideways to avoid it, and brought her weapon slicing down once again. It too, fell and joined the other pincer on the floor. An unearthly wail pierced the heavens, but with brutal determination, Chante'le butchered the creature alive.

Minutes turned to hours, yet Chante'le continued to hack, slash, rip and tear. Gore and bile covered her cloak and leather harness. She was tearing at nothing now, beating the sand. The creature's carcass had disappeared, along with her brother's corpse. A heavy push from behind suddenly took her off her feet, and she sprawled, sputtering into the grass. She tried to raise her weapon, but a booted heel crushed her arm, pinning it. She looked into the eyes of a huge man in a red cloak, wielding a titanic gun.

"Easy partner. Why do you want to join the League, Chante'le?"

The voice registered something in her memory, and she struggled to free her arm in frustration, in rage, and anger at the figure in front of her. It was him, it was him along with all the injustices of the world that had driven her to this!

"Because you are scum! You and all your ilk deserve to die!" she cried in an uncharacteristically savage voice.

"Why? Why do we deserve to die?" challenged the deep-voiced man.

"Because you hurt innocent people!"

"What innocent people?"

"Everyone! People on the street! People that don't even know you! People I don't even know! Sons! Daughters! Brothers! Fathers! People that I love!"

"What people?" The figure inquired again.

It was however, not the voice of the man in the red cloak. The figure still held a gun, and still had Chante'le's arm pinned beneath a boot. But the legs were shapely, the cloak had turned into a purple dress. Straps and buckles adorned the figure's garb, and a peculiar hat was perched on top of a dainty head, which was once again inclined towards Chante'le's direction.

The vision made Chante'le's heart stop in her chest, and the memories came flooding back. Anger died now. There was nothing but coldness, and the sands of time blew nonchalantly across the Runeterran wastes. The sun beat down, but Chante'le could feel no heat. Spring. Summer. Autumn. Winter. Finally, after an age of the world had come and gone, wisdom took it's rightful seat in Chante'le's heart.

"Why do you want to join the League, Chante'le?" said Caitlyn, the Sheriff of Piltover.

The once-girl smiled now, savoring the memories that the voice had awakened.

"Because I love you. First, I had nothing, and everything I loved was taken from me, through misfortune or necessity. I cursed the world, and I cursed love, and I wanted everything evil to die. But now, now I see that it is not my hatred of evil that made me do it. It is my love of you."

The figure now stepped backwards, releasing it's heel from Chante'le's arm, and allowing her to stand.

"How does it feel, exposing your mind?"

"As good as stealing a pizza, rolling my ankle, and taking a bath," said Chante'le, quietly. It seemed that she was talking more to herself.

As the vision disappeared with a smile, an enormous pair of double-doors opened in front of her. She strode through into the League, and was met with snow under her feet. This was it, finally. She could be someone for others to depend upon, not the other way around. She savored the memory of lost love, and love lost, and embraced the new beginning that had been bestowed upon her by both.

Her name was Chante'le – the Snowdown Thief.

* * *

><p><em>The End<em>


End file.
